A Knight and Her Man
by White Phantom
Summary: Cassandra Pentaghast x non-inquisitor Trevelyan fluff
1. Comfort Food

A/N: These will pretty much always be fluffy. I'll make a note if they're different. Thank you for reading, and if you'd like to see more chapters, feel free to leave prompts for these two in the reviews or message me!

...-...

 **C** assandra stood stock still where she was in the kitchen doorway, unsure what to do as she stared at Ser Yorric. The templar had shed his armor and was instead wearing an apron, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail with a few dark wisps plastered to his tawny, sweat-streaked face from his time in the kitchens.

He was holding up a spoon of something from over a bowl, looking at her with an expectant and hopeful expression as he repeated, "Could you come and taste this to see if it's okay?"

At first, she was going to say no, but…the smell caught her attention and she found herself drawn toward it. It was familiar, though from where she couldn't say.

Cautiously, she stepped around the table—the kitchen staff had headed to bed already, which was part of why she'd been so surprised to find anyone here, let alone Ser Yorric—and stopped beside him, hesitant to take the spoon from him.

"What is this?" As he opened his mouth to respond, she added, "And do not tell me to try it first."

At that, he laughed, a rich sound that made butterflies flutter in her stomach and heat rise to her cheeks. The man was so comfortable to be around, and more and more she found herself letting her guard down around him, simply enjoying his presence.

With everything going wrong, it was foolish to let herself get lost in a crush.

And anyway, if he did fancy her, he fancied the hard woman who helped lead the inquisition, not…her.

Strong, hard women didn't have poems written about them or romantic trysts…not in the stories, anyway.

Ser Yorric was watching her carefully, a twinkle in his eyes as he debated answering her question. "It's an old dish, though this is my first time trying to make it."

"Is that supposed to tell me what it is?" Cassandra asked, withdrawing her hand so that she could rest it against her hip, brow arched.

"Jensen told you I'm a terrible cook, didn't he?" Ser Yorric deflected before dipping the spoon back into the bowl and holding his free hand up. "I swear to the Maker, he hasn't tried my cooking in years. I've gotten better."

"It is very suspicious that you will not tell me what this is." Cassandra stated, though she couldn't help the way that twinkle in his eyes towed up the corner of her lips. It was hard to be so serious around him.

That smell was so familiar, though…something they'd eaten recently?

No…

It was…

Finally relenting, she took the spoon and tried the soup. As the swirl of spices and ingredients hit her tongue, her eyes widened. She barely remembered to swallow before staring at him. "This is Nevarran."

His eyes glittered. "Yes."

Appraising him carefully, Cassandra's hand found its way back to her hip. "I thought you were from Ostwick."

"But _you're_ from Nevarra, aren't you?" When she nodded, he shrugged. "I thought you might be a bit homesick. It's always nice to have something from home." He hesitated and then grimaced, as though expecting a reprimand. "It did taste right…didn't it?"

"I…my uncle's head cook used to make this," Cassandra glanced down at the bowl. "Yours is better."

He beamed and motioned for her to take the bowl, moving back toward the fire and getting some for himself. "I hope that means it's good."

"Did I not say that?"

"Better does not mean good. It just means less bad," Ser Yorric argued, trotting back over to the table and sliding two stools over for them to sit on.

As Cassandra settled down to a late dinner, she smiled down at the soup in her bowl. "Ser Jensen has never talked to me about your cooking, but should he, I'll let him know you've gotten quite skilled."

Ser Yorric blinked before beaming and leaning against the table. He seemed at a loss for words for a moment before picking up his own spoon. "So then. How are the odds against us lately? As terrible as ever?"

Cassandra nearly choked on her most recent spoonful and gave him a teasing glare. "Such optimism."

With a shrug, he settled in and changed the subject to something more lighthearted as they dined.


	2. I Think We Should Have Another

A/N: More fluff.

...-...

 **"** **I** think we should have another."

Cassandra stopped, half out of her seat as she was, looking across the table at Yorric. He was already waving a barmaid over to bring more drinks, and Cassandra sunk back into her chair slowly, eyeing him suspiciously.

She'd originally come into the tavern with Cullen to speak about a few less secret plans the Inquisition was working on. She'd wanted to go to his office, but he'd suggested they go to the tavern and seeing as the man almost never relaxed, she'd taken him up on his offer.

They'd been making good time getting through their to-do list, and she'd been pleased to think that they'd be able to retire early for the evening and might both be able to go off to spend some time with their respective lovers once matters had been dealt with.

And then he'd insisted on a second drink—he'd nursed his so long, honestly—and had gone to the bar, only to return with Yorric at his side.

Cassandra loved him, but he got distracted rather easily at the worst possible times, and even as he held her hand beneath the table and regaled her with stories and compliments that would normally amuse her and make her blush, she'd felt guilty.

After all, their work was taking forever and Cullen and Finley both deserved a reprieve from their work just as much as she and Yorric.

Yet, when she tried to tell Yorric to go wait for her, Cullen had invited him to stay longer, and the two men had started sharing stories from training to be templars and asking her if her seeker's training had been similar.

Finally, she'd suggested they finish their list in the morrow.

She'd expected Cullen to be relieved, to immediately excuse himself to go find Finley.

Instead, he'd lingered and instantly she'd started to wonder if something had happened between them. What if they weren't seeing eye to eye on something? What if they fell apart? They were so adorable.

Varric teased her for thinking them so cute together, but Finley had said she didn't mind, and Cullen just laughed and wished her the same happiness she wished them.

They _couldn't_ break up.

"You should go see Finley."

It had come out as more of a command than she'd meant it to be, but as soon as she'd said the mage's name, she could have sworn Cullen had frozen, for just a moment.

Then, he'd nodded to her and then to Yorric, his gaze lingering with the templar's for a moment before departing for the night.

Now, Yorric was proving to be far worse with Cullen absent. He kept insisting they wait for Jensen and a few other templars so that they could catch up on the castle gossip. While Cassandra didn't outright like it, it was fun to listen to stories from time to time.

Even so, she was tired, and she wanted to retire for the evening.

And she thought she'd seen Yorric's brother at the bar the last time he'd gone to get them another round, and yet when he'd come back the younger Trevelyan was nowhere to be found.

It was…odd.

A voice in the back of her head whispered that something was going on. She was being distracted.

But by Yorric and Cullen?

They would not do this to her.

Sera or Dorian, certainly, even Finley, but not these two.

She tried to dismiss the notion over and over, until rather abruptly, Jensen showed up with Sera and Dagna, talking and laughing about some experiment gone awry. The trio were quick to express that the matter had been easy to clean up and all was well when Cassandra had given them a stern look.

Sera showing up felt like a sign, more so when Jensen and Yorric barely talked for five minutes before Yorric suggested they retire for the evening.

It baffled her that he would have been so odd, and she'd mulled it over again and again until they'd gone back to her room. Finally, she'd let it go when he coaxed her into bed with sweet promises and gentle touches.

It wasn't until a few days later, when she found the time to look through the Seekers' book that she found one of her page markers—she'd slipped in a few to keep places and a few others from paranoia that someone might try to get the secrets within its pages.

As she stared down at the misplaced marker, she abruptly wondered where Finley had been the night that Cullen and Yorric had bought her drinks.


	3. Sick Day

A/N: Thank you for reading!

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Cassandra let out a humph as the annoying twittering of birds began. Her shoulders were sore—really, everything was sore. It hurt to breathe, and her throat was raw and dry.

If not for her running nose, she might have hidden beneath her pillow for a few more precious moments of sleep. As it was, rolling over as she had had made her pillow gross enough that she was not about to stay there.

Pushing herself up, she found her eyes didn't want to open, and she had to reach up and rub at the crust along their edges.

Maker, help her.

She'd told him not to be an ass. Told him not to go near the water in all that armor.

Did he listen?

Of course not.

"Good morning…"

The words were tentative, but clear enough to break through the fog in her head and Cassandra snapped her head up, glaring blearily toward Yorric.

He sat just inside her tent, like he might flee if she proved too much of a grouch.

Without thinking, she tossed her pillow at him. Even sick as she was, her aim was still good enough that it thudded into his chest. As he looked down at it, he grimaced—though he quickly tried to hide that—and then looked at her, a hesitant smile tugging up at his full lips.

"I've made some broth. I think it'll help until we can get a healer out here."

"You think…" Cassandra started to snap, but found her throat far too hoarse to properly lecture him.

Seeming to decide that her claws were dulled enough, he moved further into the tent, setting her pillow near the bed roll and then holding out his arms. "I love you, you know that?"

Even the disgusted noise that bubbled up from deep within her hurt her throat.

However, when he offered her a kerchief, she took it. He disappeared a moment before returning with the broth he'd mentioned. He settled closer to her as he held it out, and Cassandra waved him off when he offered to hold it for her, if her strength was failing her.

Just because she felt miserable didn't mean she'd reverted to a child.

The broth stung parts of her throat, though she managed to down it slowly, setting it down occasionally to blow her nose and then glare properly at Yorric.

He looked perfect, as always, dark hair pulled back in that usual ponytail at the base of his neck, and a gentle gleam to his swarthy complexion. He was finally out of that damned armor, instead in a simple tunic and breeches, and Cassandra had a fleeting impulse to ask him to come closer and put his well-toned arms around her.

Then she remember that this was his fault and glared again before picking up her bowl.

Three days ago, they'd been tracking Venatori when they'd gotten attacked by a wyvern. The damned thing had been huge, yet quick, and it had been a difficult fight.

One they could have one using conventional means, though Yorric had had the brilliant idea of running the creature to an outcrop of rock. While he'd admitted that he'd intended to have the beast jump at him and into the deeper waters, the rock hadn't been as stable as he'd assumed, and with the weight of both of them, it had gone sliding into the water, taking both man and beast with it.

Cassandra's heart had just about stopped as she'd surveyed the water, looking for signs of Yorric, all but forgetting about the giant lizard. Yorric had bobbed up to the surface after a moment, but…

He wasn't moving.

As she'd run down to the water, she'd tossed off gauntlets and vambraces, struggled with straps to other pieces of armor. She'd managed to get the heaviest of it off before diving in after him, praying to the Maker and His Bride that Yorric would be alright.

After dragging him to shore and gulping down a bit too much of the slimy water, she'd managed to get him breathing again with her own breath, and then…

And then he'd given her that wide grin of his, and she'd known he would be alright.

He'd leaned up and caught her in a near-heart-stopping kiss that almost made her forget that he'd nearly killed himself.

It was about then that one of the others with them had announced the wyvern was indeed dead.

That brought everything back into perspective and she'd gripped his shoulders, shaking him slightly as she demanded to know what was wrong with him. Then she'd held him again, unable to be angry when she'd nearly lost him.

The next morning, however, the itch in the back of her throat had begun, as well as a stiffness in her joints.

Despite downing more health potions than she should have, she was in a miserable state now, and Yorric had sent for healers, ignoring when she told him not to waste such time.

He'd finally gotten her to accept help when he pointed out she was going to drink all their potions before they could fight anything.

It was with grudging acceptance that she'd agreed they would stay put for a few days.

Still, the longer they did nothing, the more annoyed she became. There was work to be done in the Exalted Plains, and they couldn't very well do any of it if they were too busy coddling her.

This was his fault. All of it. If he hadn't fallen in the damned water, she'd be fine.

And why wasn't he sick, too?

Her expression seemed to convey that sentiment, because he reached out and gently combed his fingers through her hair before leaning forward and kissing her temple. Before she could try to croak something out, he took her bowl and disappeared again.

When he came back, she was already half dressed and wrestling with her socks. She snapped a sharp look at him.

Rather than look repentant for coming in without announcing himself, he simply held up a pillow. "I thought you might want a change." His other hand held a small bucket and a towel was thrown over his shoulder. "And a bath."

As grouchy as she was, she couldn't fight that look in his eyes. He was worried.

As he reached out and ran his fingers down her cheek, she leaned into his touch without thinking. The man might have almost gotten himself killed and gotten her sick, but he was a good soul, and he didn't deserve all this ire.

…-…

Before Yorric could offer her any playful suggestions about getting her out of her clothes that she would probably find unamusing, sick as she was, she slumped to the side and he had to drop his pillow as he caught her.

Maker help him, but she was the strongest woman he'd ever known. To see her slumping over so quickly…

He lay her down awkwardly before moving the pail away and then carefully lifting her head to set his pillow beneath her. She snuggled into it almost immediately, a hoarse whisper that he couldn't make out slipping from her chapped lips.

When he went to move away, however, her fingers were clutching part of his shirt.

With a soft smile, he loosened her grip and then settled down behind her, brushing back some of her wild, uncombed hair and kissing the nape of her neck.

Even snoring and sniffling and coughing and mumbling incoherently in her sleep as she gripped the hand he'd laced with hers, she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

"I love you, dear lady."

The skin around his eyes crinkled as she mumbled back, "Me, too."


End file.
